


Snow

by wrennette



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Fluff, M/M, after action, archiving old words, holiday!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy Brad and Nate on Christmas Eve in Cambridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mydocuments](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydocuments/gifts).



> Archiving from LJ. Originally posted 2008.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Evan Wright, HBO, and whoever else owns them. No profit is made.
> 
> Original AN: This is for mydocuments, who asked for a happy drabble. This is a slight adaptation of the comment-fic I originally gifted her.

"I fucking hate this shit," Brad grouses, looking at the delicate flakes of snow whirling down from the leaden sky outside Nate's Cambridge apartment. Nate just shakes his head with a small smile, shoves a huge mug of half coffee, half cocoa, doctored heavily with whisky and marshmallows, into Brad's massive hands. 

"It's Christmas eve," Nate says. "How can you hate snow on Christmas eve?" Brad sips at the steaming, sugary confection, and his glare isn't quite so lethal as he says: 

"Because I'm Jewish, and you're celebrating baby Jesus' birthday in the wrong fucking month." Nate rolls his eyes, slides around to Brad's back and wraps his arms around Brad's waist. 

"It's a good reason to stay inside and avoid the rest of the world?" Nate offers softly against the winter-pale skin of Brad's neck, and Brad huffs softly, steam billowing away from the mug in front of his mouth. Slowly Brad takes another long pull of the home made mocha, then hums softly, melting back against Nate. Nate grins. The whisky is kicking in. 

"Happy Christmas," Brad offers gently three mugs later, and seals it with a sweet, whisky laced kiss. Nate smiles into it, then melts against Brad. Later they'll brave the weather, shuffle through the snow in Harvard Square and watch college kids pelt one another with snowballs on the Common. But right now, Nate leans against Brad's chest, safe and warm in the circle of his arms, and watches the crystalline flakes swirl down like the glitter in a shaken snow globe.


End file.
